


Wanderingly

by ObsidianPen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Drama, Fantasy, Harrymort - Freeform, Labyrinth AU, M/M, tomarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-10-15 08:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10552910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianPen/pseuds/ObsidianPen
Summary: The walls kept changing, the staircases kept moving... Harry was racing against the slowly falling, emerald spheres within a silver hourglass. The castle in the distance seemed so far, but nothing ever was quite what it appeared to be here in this fantasy, in the labyrinth of the Dark Lord's creation - Harry learned that very quickly.Labyrinth!AU, dark, Tomarry/Harrymort.





	1. The Immortal King

He was not a boy, but a hero.

Harry's long, black robe billowed behind him in the wind, fluttering like a living shadow. The naked branches of the elder trees swayed ominously, gnarled twigs like fingers reaching towards the heavens. The sky was painted in steely hues, foreboding gray and silver. Thunder rumbled above him, the promise of an imminent storm, but the champion paid it no mind.

He was focused.

"I am the savior, foretold in a prophecy, born as the seventh month dies… I am the Chosen One."

Harry's voice was clear, confident, looking towards his mortal enemy with accusation in his eyes. "And you, the Dark Lord, the Immortal King, born as one dawn died and a new one began… You will lose, if you fight me. I have seen what you will become. You are lost, unless you try for… Try for…"

Harry frowned, brows furrowed as he thought furiously.

"Try for... for some..."

After a long, fruitless moment, Harry dropped his arm. He groaned in defeat, the magic of the moment gone, the spell of make-believe deteriorating into the blandness of reality. "Damn it, why can I never think of that last line?" he muttered, retrieving the book he'd left on the grass. It was his favorite story in the world, his most prized possession.

_Flight from Death._

It was an apt title, considering the antagonist and the protagonist. A villain who feared death more than anything, delving into corruption in order to overcome the inevitability of a still heart and a stagnant pulse…

And an innocent child, the future hero who had never been given a choice, living his entire life in fear of the monster's shadow, all because of a prophetic statement that was possibly a falsity. The Chosen One, whom everyone in the fictional kingdom believed was the only person who could save them all.

The hero and the villain, both fleeing from death in their own ways…

Harry's obedient dog, who sat watching his reenactment from the sidelines, cocked his head as Harry flipped through the pages of the book, looking more inquisitive than any animal should.

Harry could have slapped himself. "Try for some remorse," he read out loud. "Why is that line so hard for me to remember? Why does my mind always go blank? …Do you know, Sirius?"

Sirius, being a dog, answered by wagging his tail at the sound of his name. Harry laughed and scratched his ear. "Yeah, me either," he said, grinning.

Off in the distance, the clock tower began to emit a low, monotonous beat. "Oh, shit!" Harry yelled as he snapped the book shut. "It's already seven!"

As if to make matters worse, it suddenly began not only to rain, but pour. Harry quickly hid _Flight from Death_ in the pocket inside of his long coat, far more concerned with it getting wet than him. "Let's go, Sirius!" he yelled, taking off towards his house. The massive, black dog immediately followed at his heels.

Harry sprinted as quickly as they could, but even though the park was not far from where he lived, both he and his dog were drenched by the time they made it to the porch.

…Where Aunt Petunia was waiting for him, under the awning, all dressed up... and looking furious.

"Boy! Where have you been, and what are you wearing?" she snapped. She then looked quickly down the street, clearly concerned that the neighbors may be watching. "Get inside, now," she hissed.

Harry shuffled towards the door. "C'mon, Sirius…"

"Not the dog!"

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Petunia's shrill command left no room for disagreement. "Go to the shed, boy," Harry commanded morosely. Sirius whined, but never disobeyed Harry. He hung his head and walked away, his dark, shaggy hair so long that it grazed the ground as he went.

"Stay on the patio, boy, I need to get you a towel—can't have you tracking water all over our nice wood floors—"

Harry took the robe he was wearing off and draped it over the patio railing while he waited, carefully setting his book aside. At least the cloak had prevented his other clothes from getting drenched.

His aunt quickly returned with a stack of old towels in her hands, and promptly thrust one into Harry's arms. "Why were you wearing that dreadful thing, anyway? Where did you even get it?" she asked huffily as Harry dried his hair. She watched with a distasteful expression on her face, probably because no matter what state it was in—wet, dry, combed, blow-dried—Harry's hair always looked like a rooster had just tried to make itself a home there.

"Thrift store," Harry mumbled, wiping the moisture from his glasses.

Petunia's eyes narrowed even more as she glanced at the book. "This is getting out of hand, boy," she seethed. Harry snatched the book up before she could think to take it from him, immediately defensive. Petunia rolled her eyes.

"I don't have time for your nonsense. Take your shoes off and get inside, your uncle and I have a reservation at 7:30. I told you to be home by seven!"

Harry slipped out of his beat-up, old converse and followed her into the house."If I didn't have other plans, you said," he muttered, against his better judgment.

Petunia put her hands on her hips, her petulant expression softening only slightly. "Well, you never said you had other plans," she said. "I would hire another sitter if you did—and I think you should! A boy your age should have plans, should be out on dates with girls!"

Harry hardly stopped himself from wincing.

It never ceased to amaze him just how incredibly unperceptive his aunt was when it came to her nephew, especially considering how much she knew of the neighborhood gossip. Harry was not like most sixteen-year-old boys, that much was very clear. He was far more interested in art and theatre than anything else, he often wore jewelry and didn't care what anyone thought about it, and it was painfully obvious to anyone who bothered to get to know him (and to most of his peers, many of whom did not react kindly) that Harry was not interested in going on dates with girls.

His aunt was too woefully blind to notice.

…His uncle wasn't.

"Vernon! He's here, and we need to leave, now!"

Harry lowered his gaze on instinct as Vernon entered the living room. Harry's uncle was tall, huge, and terrifying… even with a fussy baby in his hands.

"About bloody time," Vernon grumbled. "Here, boy. Take Dudley. And be gentle with him!"

Harry almost said something stupid and reckless, then—being told to be gentle from Vernon was nothing short of laughable. But he didn't. Harry held his tongue and took his baby cousin from him, doing everything in his power to touch his uncle as little as possible in the process. Dudley writhed unhappily in his arms. His baby cousin, nearly a year old, was colicky in general, but seemed even more distraught tonight.

Harry abhorred him.

He knew it was childish, he knew it was unfair, but it was the truth. Harry detested the infant in his arms, because Dudley's birth had marked a significant decline to Harry's quality of life.

It wasn't like things had been wonderful before Dudley was born—quite the opposite, in fact. Harry had been relatively ignored and neglected, an unwanted addition to his aunt and uncle's lives as newlyweds. Harry had practically been forced upon them after his parents died in a car accident, just a baby himself at the time, with no other family to take him in. It amazed him to this day that they hadn't just dropped him off at an orphanage, but they hadn't.

Sometimes, Harry wondered if he might have been better off if they had done that. He couldn't remember a life that didn't consist of his neglecting aunt, her monstrous husband, and the dismal cupboard under the stairs.

His childhood had by no means been pleasant, then… but everything became infinitely worse when Harry's aunt finally became pregnant two years ago. Petunia turned into the mother she never had been to him, radiating a kind of warmth that Harry had never known personally. And Harry, awkward, going through puberty and suddenly even less wanted in their happy household, had never felt more ostracized.

Vernon had changed too.

The neglect from his uncle had turned into outright abuse, and Harry was counting down the days until he turned eighteen and could leave this house and what he'd known as 'family' behind.

"We should be home around ten or so," Petunia said as Vernon helped her into her coat, a monster acting the part of a gentleman. "Take good care of my special, precious Dudders. Tomorrow is a big day for him! It's his very first birthday!"

Her last words were hardly meant for Harry; Petunia had said them in a simpering baby tone just before leaning over and pressing her lips to Dudley's forehead. The infant only writhed more in Harry's arms in response, but Petunia smiled at him nonetheless. "My big, strong, almost one year old," she cooed. Then she looked to Harry, and the warmth vanished from her face. "All right, we're off. Be good."

Vernon held the door open for her, flashing Harry a sinister smile before he grabbed an umbrella and followed her. "Right, Harry. Be good."

He left, locking the door behind them. Harry sighed and his muscles relaxed in their absence.

The sensation of relief was fleeting. Dudley started crying in earnest when lightning flashed again, followed shortly by another deep roar of thunder.

"Come on, now," Harry said, rocking him gently. "It's just a storm, nothing so scary…"

Harry took Dudley to his room, hoping that laying him in his crib beneath his mobile might calm him—a moving, hanging toy which Harry himself had made him. Dudley loved to watch the ornaments whirl past; in fact, his first giggle had happened the night they first lay him under it. Creating the mobile was, in his aunt's eyes, one of the few things that Harry had managed to do right in his life—making Dudley a fantastical orbit consisting of a man on a motorcycle, a snowy owl, a dark horse with wings, and a number of other creatures that made absolutely no sense. Why had he thought to carve out of wood a miniature creature with an eagle's head but a horse's behind? Harry had no idea, but he had, and baby Dudley had found it delightful.

He did not find it delightful now.

Harry sighed, spinning the mobile and thinking of how much simpler life was before Dudley had been born. How it had been easier, better. And tomorrow, being precious Dudley's first birthday, was sure to be a horrible day for Harry.

"Why did you have to happen?" he muttered under his breath. Dudley sobbed more loudly in response. 

He knew it was ridiculous, but Harry found himself thinking about his favorite story again. _Flight from Death_ , the tale of the Dark Lord, the Immortal King: the villain who collected souls like objects, and would take any offering, any sacrifice to feed his power. The evil antagonist who offered fantasies in exchange for life, who could make one's wildest dreams come true…

Harry smiled, feeling uncharacteristically twisted. Perhaps it was simply Dudley's cries grating on his nerves just enough—the final, unbearable note that filled him with a fleeting and horrid bitterness.

Fleeting, but powerful. Harry may have had a hard time with that last line from the tale, but he recalled the spell which would supposedly summon the Dark Lord well. He reached for Dudley, feeling reckless and bold.

_"…Morsmordre."_

Harry whispered the made-up word from the fairy tale with malice. He smirked as he held his baby cousin high up over his head, like the fictional Dark Lord might pluck him out of his hands right then and there.

Of course, this did not happen. Dudley just continued to cry, his fat cheeks blotchy, red, and covered in tears.

"Oh, I'm just joking," Harry groaned, pulling Dudley to his chest and rocking him back and forth, trying once more to soothe him. It wasn't working. Probably because the storm was scaring him, Harry thought, as another flash of light lit up the room and Dudley let out a high-pitched wail. Harry laid him down in his crib and covered him with his blanket.

When the mobile continued to fail him, Harry tried giving Dudley the toy sword with fake, red gems in the handle that was actually his but which his baby cousin loved to chew on, hoping that maybe something plastic and shiny would stop him from crying. It didn't. Harry sighed, sensing that he was going to have a long night ahead of him. Maybe he was hungry. Dudley always seemed to be hungry.

Harry turned to go and warm some formula, but he paused in the hallway. The lights in the entire house had gone out all at once, the power blown.

Dudley… had stopped crying.

Heart racing in the sudden darkness and lack of sobbing, Harry hurried back into the nursery. "Dudley…?" he called. Harry peered into the crib, his hands shaking as he reached down to move the blanket, because it looked like—but it couldn't be—

With a dizzying wave of nausea, Harry's fear was confirmed.

The baby was gone.

Before he could react to this devastation, a sudden noise from the other side of the room distracted him, something quick, something moving. Harry reacted by grabbing the plastic sword from the crib and whipping around, brandishing the toy like it was a real weapon. Yet even though he'd just heard scurrying footsteps, he saw nothing but shadows.

Another sound, and then another. From under the crib and behind the curtains, from within the dresser and under the floorboards: the quick and erratic steps of something—or multiple somethings—encircling him. "Who's there!?" Harry shouted, spinning in circles and feeling surrounded, but never catching a glimpse of whatever it was that was stirring in the darkness. It was like every time he turned, he just missed them, these elusive monsters in the shadows.

Lightning flashed once more, bright and blinding. Thunder roared with the ferocity of a feral beast. The wind and rain beat against the window to the point where Harry thought the glass might shatter.

This was no mere storm, this was a _nightmare_.

"Who's there!?" Harry screamed again, truly panicking now. "Come out, whatever you are—Where are you, where—"

The window exploded.

In a whirlwind of broken glass and rain, Harry quickly backed away, astounded and terrified as an _owl_ , a bright, snowy _owl_ had just come flying into his house in the midst of a tempest. Gaping, Harry raised his arms, unsure if he meant to attack this random bird or not—but then there were those footsteps again, something running behind him, and Harry spun around, ready to strike—

It had disappeared before he could see it. Harry turned back to face the broken window to find that the owl, too, had vanished.

Harry's jaw dropped.

He must have been dreaming, because there was simply no other way to explain what was happening. Harry was fairly certain that the owl which had just shattered the window and flown into his house was…

Well, it looked like it had just turned itself into a god.

There was a man who was far too striking to be just a man standing there, the curtains on either side of the window billowing around him like a living, fabric frame. He was tall, pale, and dressed in the most elaborate garments that Harry had ever seen: a skin-tight shirt, tight, leather pants, and a cape with a high collar that extended above his jawline. Black, all of it black.

His eyes and hair, too. Darker than even the shadows which enshrouded him, like there was a blackness in this entity which the world Harry lived in could hardly comprehend. He was stunning, this person, he was terrifying, he was… _beautiful_.

He smiled.

Harry dropped the sword.

It landed on the floor with the pathetic clatter of cheap plastic. The stranger's eyes flickered to it briefly before meeting Harry's again, and his smile widened, revealing a set of perfectly straight, white teeth.

"Hello, Harry," he said in a voice that was like velvet against the backdrop of the storm.

And then it hit him, who this man must be. Somehow, impossibly…

"You're him, aren't you?" Harry gasped. "You're the Dark Lord, the Immortal King..." He paused, breath catching, pulse racing. "H-he Who Must Not Be Named…"

His smile widened. "You look so surprised," the Dark Lord murmured in confirmation, putting his hands on his hips. "You summoned me, beseeching me to take away the burden of your terrible, infant cousin… and so I have."

Harry swallowed thickly, dread flooding his entire being. "I-I want him back, if it's all the same."

The King stared at him for a moment as though considering him, his face expressionless. "You want him back…" he responded softly, tilting his head to one side.

Then he started laughing. Immediately, from all sides, what sounded like a hundred others laughed with him—but when Harry turned to look, he saw no one else in the room.

"You want him back," the Dark Lord purred again once the laughter stopped, grinning crookedly. "What's said… is said."

"I didn't mean it!" Harry shouted. "I didn't mean it, I…"

"Oh, you didn't?"

The Dark Lord took a step closer to Harry, his onyx eyes gleaming. "Really? Because that spell only works if there is intention behind the word. Only true desire can make such a curse effective, can summon someone like me…"

"Where is he?" Harry demanded, ignoring the King's accusation and the pooling guilt in his stomach. "Where is my cousin?"

"You know very well where he is."

Terror washed over Harry, cold and suffocating. "Please," Harry begged. "Bring him back… Please."

The King gave him another calculative look. "…Harry," he said after a time, almost soothingly. "Turn away. Go back to living in your fairy tales, in your fantastical story about a hero and his supposed purpose... Forget about the baby."

Harry shook his head. "I can't."

There was a long pause. The storm, Harry noticed, had faded, leaving the night air outside stagnant and cold. The Dark Lord smirked when Harry shivered.

"I've brought you a gift."

He lifted one hand, his long fingers covered in black, leather gloves. A sphere appeared there, an orb made of crystal.

Harry stared at it in shock. "What is it?"

"It's a crystal… A Remembrall, to be precise," the King answered, turning it slightly. It shimmered with an unnatural light. "Sometimes, they help you remember… Sometimes, they help you forget. In this case, it can help you to acquire your dreams…"

He looked down at Harry, eyes smoldering, and when had he gotten so close? "Do you want it?" the Dark Lord asked softly, holding it under Harry's face so that he could peer beyond its reflective surface.

Harry saw.

He saw a world where he was not despised by his aunt and uncle for being the acquired burden they had never wanted, so many years ago; he saw a life where he had never known abuse. He saw a home he'd never known with parents he'd never met, where he slept in a room painted red and gold—not in a small, dismal cupboard under the stairs. He saw himself not being ruthlessly taunted at school for being different, but surrounded by a group of people who he somehow knew were meant to be his dearest friends.

Harry saw happiness.

He _did_ want it.

"…Then forget the baby."

Harry looked up, snapped out of the alluring daydream. "I can't," he said adamantly. "I appreciate what you're doing, but… I want my cousin back. He's innocent, and he… he must be so scared."

"Harry." The Immortal King's voice became sharp and cold. He lifted the sphere, and Harry watched as, right before his eyes, it turned into a black, writhing snake. The Dark Lord held it with both hands as he stretched its serpentine body out like an animate, scaly chain. He glanced back at Harry, and his eyes flashed _red_.

"Don't oppose me."

Without warning, he thrust the snake at Harry's neck. It wrapped around his throat, hissing angrily, vicious—

"Don't hurt me!" Harry screamed as he struggled to pull the creature off.

The serpent vanished as quickly as it had come. Harry gasped as, rather than an angry snake being wrapped around him, he was suddenly ensnared by He Who Must Not Be Named himself, his jaw held tightly in his hand, his face an inch from Harry's own. The King's eyes were once more a dark and mysterious black.

"What did you just say?" he whispered, and though his face was blank, Harry was more afraid of him now than ever. His skin broke out into goosebumps.

It took Harry a long time before he could form words again; the King's stare was petrifying with its intensity. "D-don't hurt me," Harry stuttered out. Then, to clarify:

"…I said don't hurt me."

The Dark Lord continued to stare at him for what felt like an eternity. There was a hungry glint in his gaze that was extremely disquieting. Then, finally, the Dark Lord smiled again, though it did not reach his eyes. "Fascinating," he murmured, letting go of Harry's chin. "… But still. You're no match for me, Harry."

Harry scowled; when had he ever said that he was? "I have to have my cousin back," he pleaded.

The King shrugged half-heartedly and stepped aside. "He's there," he said, pointing towards the window. "In my castle."

Harry approached the window, and there was a fantasy stretched before him.

A huge, black castle in the distance, where just moments before there had been nothing but streets and houses. It was surrounded by a maze so vast and great that Harry felt lost just looking at it.

The King laughed at his stunned expression. "Do you still want to look for him?

Harry was amazed at he examined the landscape of an orange sky and sandy ground. This, here, was the fairy tale come to life. "Is that… Is that the castle? Hogwarts? The enchanted one, at the center of the labyrinth, from the story…"

When he turned to face the Dark Lord again, it was to see that the entire room had vanished. They were alone in a desolate desert on the outside of the maze's many walls. "Turn back, Harry," the King said, though there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice—clearly, both he and Harry knew that the decision had already been made.

"Turn back, before it's too late."

"I can't," Harry lamented, shaking his head. "Don't you understand that I can't?"

He faced the maze again. "What a pity," the King replied darkly.

Harry ignored him, bolstering a courage within him which he had never known existed before. "It doesn't look that far," he commented, as though he were convincing himself.

"It's further than you think."

Harry jumped; the King was suddenly right behind him, speaking into his ear over his shoulder. "And time is short."

The Dark Lord lifted both his arms, and between his hands appeared a large, gleaming hourglass adorned in silver snakes. The bottom half was filled with thousands of tiny, emerald spheres rather than sand. "You have thirteen hours in which to solve the labyrinth, before your infant cousin is lost…" he said, and as he spoke the hourglass twisted in midair, turning over so that the emeralds began to flow downwards.

"…forever."

Then he stepped away, the hourglass remaining where he'd left it, hovering in midair. He slowly vanished as he walked backwards, his eyes glittering dangerously—his smile, a taunt. His final words echoed in Harry's mind long after he disappeared.

" _Such_ a pity."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Yes, this is a labyrinth AU. 2. No, you do not need to have seen the Labyrinth or even know what it is to get this story, though it would probably make it more enjoyable... in one sense. In another, I think it might be better if you haven't watched it, and therefore have no basis for comparison. Either way is good. 3. Things will get twisted.


	2. The Skeleton Man

Harry's eyes lingered on the empty space where the Immortal King had stood just seconds before. He felt like he could still see that mischievous grin, and the mental image had him rooted to the spot, his stomach twisting in an indescribable way.

But then the soft, clinking sound of emeralds trickling downwards in the hourglass caused him to jump. Thirteen hours! He had only thirteen hours in which to save Dudley, and he was just standing here, staring off into space…

Harry squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, bolstering his courage. He could do this. He would save his cousin.

Harry turned and headed towards the labyrinth.

As he descended the hill and drew nearer to the outside of the fortress, Harry's confidence began to wane. The walls were massive, twice as tall as he was and made of black bricks. Vines grew along the sides, a plant which also flowered in bushes near the base of the walls. It was the only plant life which Harry saw thriving in this sandy world. He looked to his left. He looked to his right. There was no entrance to the maze in sight.

Harry began to walk along the perimeter of the wall, and though he tried to remain level-headed, his unease grew with every step. There was _nothing!_ No door, no gate, no hole through which he could crawl…

"There's got to be an entryway somewhere," Harry muttered to himself. "There's got to be a way into this bloody place…"

He was just beginning to truly panic when he saw someone in the distance, someone with his back to him. For a wild moment, Harry thought it was the Dark Lord again—he was dressed in black and very tall—but no; this man was not wearing any of the finery that the Immortal King had, just a long, plain robe, and his hair was also long… Perhaps it was a woman? Harry watched for a moment, wary to announce his presence right away. The person was picking the white flowers which grew alongside the wall, gathering them and placing them into a basket…

"Hello?" Harry called nervously.

The figure turned, slowly… and Harry's heart froze in his chest.

A _skull_.

The figure's face was a _skull_ , a white and terrifying _skull_. Harry's hand flew to his mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to come out.

The figure lifted its chin slightly, and it was only then that Harry saw the intelligent eyes beyond the façade. Not a skull, then, but a mask… A very convincing mask. The skeletal features were so artfully placed on the man's face, framed by a curtain of dark, shiny hair, that it nearly appeared to be a part of him.

"Oh," the figure drawled, and Harry was certain, now, based on the tenor, that it was a man.

"It's _you_."

He did _not_ sound pleased.

Harry cocked his head to one side, much the same way Sirius did when his dog was confused. "Er. I'm sorry—do I know you?"

The figure laughed, but it was a cold and condescending sound. "No, but I have a feeling I know _you_." His dark eyes darted up and down Harry's body, and even with the mask in place, Harry could tell that it was with great distaste.

Then, to Harry's great surprise and annoyance, the man turned and continued to gather flowers. His cloak billowed behind him as he walked away.

"Fifty-seven, fifty-eight…"

"Hey!" Harry shouted, trailing after him. The man paused with a blossom in his hand, but didn't say anything. "Can… Can you help me get into the labyrinth?"

The skeleton man ignored his question. "What would I get," he murmured instead, his gaze focused not on Harry but on the small, white flower between his fingers, "if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

He looked at Harry. Harry stared back at him, his jaw dropping and feeling even more perplexed than before. _Powdered root of what to an infusion of what?_ "Er… I don't know," he answered.

Harry got the feeling the man was smirking. "You're not going to get very far at _all_ , are you?" Before Harry could respond to that, he asked another question. "Who are you? _Truthfully_."

Maybe it was the last word, spoken with such a stern derisiveness, that made Harry answer the way he did. "I'm Harry," he said, forcing himself to sound confident. "Harry James Potter."

The man scoffed. "Of _course_ it is."

He then turned and walked away… _again_.

Glowering, Harry followed and fell into step at his side. "Who are you?" he asked. Then, feeling resentful, added, " _Truthfully_."

The waves of annoyance radiating about this man were so strong that Harry could practically taste the bitterness on his tongue. "My name… is Severus Snape," he said coldly.

"Why are you gathering flowers?" Harry couldn't help but ask; it was just such an odd sight, watching a man with a skeleton mask gather up white flowers into a basket.

"These are not just _any_ flowers, they are _asphodels_. As you may or may not have gathered from my question to which you had no answer, they are quite useful. I use them in potions and elixirs. My supply has run low."

"Potions and elixirs?" Harry asked, boggled but intrigued. "You make _potions_ and _elixirs_?"

"Astute observation, _Potter_. With such keen perception, you are sure to master the labyrinth in no time."

He spoke with such cruel sarcasm and said his surname so venomously that Harry winced. What in the world had he done, to make this man hate him so much already?

But he brought up a good point—Harry was wasting time, asking about potions and elixirs. "Do you know where the door to the labyrinth is?"

"Perhaps."

Snape continued to gather flowers, counting quietly to himself as he did. Harry scowled. "Well, where is it?"

"Where is _what?"_

"The door!"

" _What_ door?"

Harry wanted to tear the hair from his scalp. The man's face may have been hidden, but Snape's eyes were gleaming, obviously enjoying Harry's turmoil. "This is hopeless," he seethed, incensed.

"Not if you _control_ your emotions, _focus_ your mind… and _ask the right questions_."

Harry glared, but resisted the immediate instinct to yell at him. Instead, he took a deep breath, and in a level voice asked, "How do I get into the labyrinth?"

Snape nodded deeply and set the basket of asphodels aside. " _That_ is more like it," he said, turning towards the labyrinth's outer wall. He touched a few of the bricks in what Harry thought was a rather peculiar and specific order, and then…

The wall _moved_. The bricks shifted aside, creating an entryway wide enough for a person to walk through.

Gaping, Harry approached the entrance, but he hovered at the threshold. "Well?" Snape said, making Harry jump. "Are you going to dawdle all day, Potter?"

Harry glared. "No," he growled. He stepped over the asphodel bushes, not hesitating as he officially entered the labyrinth.

It appeared to be one long, endless corridor in both directions. Harry's head swiveled from side to side, distraught. How was it there were no turns? From the top of the hill, it had looked like there were hundreds and thousands of twists and turns…

"Shall you go left, or right?"

Snape was leaning against the edge of the entrance he'd just created, the basket of flowers once more hanging from his elbow.

"They both look the same…"

"You _really_ aren't going to make it far."

Harry decided then that he didn't care for Snape at all, either. It was a shame he was the only company he had. "Which way would you go?"

"I would not go either way."

"I'm sorry I asked," Harry muttered. "You obviously don't want to help me."

"Did I not just show you how to get into the maze?" Snape's voice lowered an octave, becoming more sinister. "Do not take anything for granted here, _Potter_."

"I'll keep that in mind, _Snape_."

Snape advanced on him then, moving until he was looming over Harry, his eyes only visible as thin, dark slits behind his mask. The bone-white skull and his long, dark hair made him a rather imposing figure, but Harry didn't back down. "You are on a mission that is doomed to end in failure, you do know that, don't you?" he hissed. "Even if you pass every test and solve every riddle that is posed to you, even if you make it to the castle in the center of the labyrinth, to Hogwarts… you will _never_ make it out again. You cannot win."

"That's your opinion," Harry responded coolly.

"It is a far more informed one than _yours_."

There was a tense moment where the two simply glared at one another. Harry shook his head, hating to be the one to look away first, but knowing he had no time to waste. "Thanks for nothing, Snape," he said, turning and going to his left.

Snape scoffed behind him, but didn't retort. Harry took a few paces, but then paused.

"Oh! One more thing," he called, snapping his fingers and turning around. Snape waited, still standing there, still glaring. "You initially said that it was asphodel _root_ that was useful in potion-making," Harry said, pointing down towards the basket. "But you're picking the blossoms, not pulling up the roots. Are those just as useful, or is there some other reason a man in a skull mask would be gathering white flowers?"

How Harry wished he could see Snape's full expression. His narrowed eyes went wide, clearly shocked. Harry smirked.

"I'm not saying you're a liar, Snape… But I don't think you're a very honest person, either."

Harry then turned and walked away, feeling confident once more as he went further into the maze. With such keen perception, he thought smugly, Harry James Potter was sure to master the labyrinth in no time.


	3. The Talking Hat

It went on, and on, and on.

Harry's confidence was waning with every step he took. He'd been walking for a very long time now, and he had yet to come across a single turn. The fortress was seamless and never-ending, imposing dark bricks with the occasional bit of lichen growing across the surface. Harry swore he felt eyes on him as he walked, and more than once thought he heard the slightest of whispers coming from the walls—but every time he turned around to look, there was no one there.

Harry scowled, more frustrated than afraid. How was it possible that there were _no_ openings?

"What kind of bloody maze is this?" Harry growled. He glared at the wall like it was a living entity, and he could hold it personally responsible.

He was rather shocked when it answered him.

"A magical one, o'course!"

Harry jumped so badly he nearly fell over. "Holy shit!" he shouted, eyes darting across the bricks. "You can talk!"

"O'course I can!" There was a deep, throaty laugh. "And I'm over 'ere!"

It was only then that Harry found the true source of the gruff voice. There was tiny, extremely hairy, brown worm crawling along a crevice. He had small, black eyes and a cheery grin.

"'Ello," he said, inclining his fuzzy head.

Harry stared, in a state of total shock. "Did… did you just say _hello_?"

"No, I said 'ello, but thas close enough."

He laughed again. Harry sighed in relief at the sound—perhaps not every creature in this maze was horrible. "Do you know how to get through the labyrinth?"

"No, 'fraid not. I'm jus' a worm."

"Oh."

Harry's disappointment must have been obvious. "Sorry," the worm said. "Say, how 'bout you come inside?" he nodded towards a tiny hole in the wall. "I can put some tea on. Yeh can meet Fang."

"Er, no thank you," Harry said, eyeing the small gap suspiciously. He had no idea what Fang was, but he was pretty certain he did not want to meet it. "I have to solve the labyrinth… But I've no idea how! There's no turns or openings or anything! It just goes on and on…"

"It's full 'o openings! Yeh jus' ain't seein' 'em."

Harry turned and looked up and down the seemingly endless path. "Where are they, then?"

"There's one righ' in front of yeh!"

Harry stared, beginning to get annoyed at this worm's irrational vagueness. Right in front of him was nothing but a _wall_. "No, there isn't," he muttered.

"'Course there is," the worm disagreed. "Try walkin' through it. Yeh'll see what I mean."

"But there's no way through!"

"Things aren' always what they seem. Can' take nothin' fer granted, here."

Harry glanced back at him. The worm smiled encouragingly.

Feeling foolish even as he did it, Harry took a tentative step towards the wall… and then another, and then another…

"Hey!" he shouted, perplexed when his leg passed straight into the bricks. It was an illusion! He walked right through, and on the other side of the fake wall he could see the rest of the labyrinth before him—full of twists and turns, just as he knew it should be.

Elated, Harry had already taken several steps before he caught himself. He returned to the opening. "Thank you! That was incredibly helpful!" he said to the worm. He then waved and went to his right, ready to face the _true_ labyrinth.

"Don' go tha' way!" the worm shouted. Harry paused and went back, alarmed by how worried the worm suddenly sounded. " _Never_ go tha' way!"

"Oh. Er, thanks," Harry said. Taking the helpful worm's advice, he went to his left instead.

Harry didn't hear the worm's sigh after he'd gone, nor his softly spoken words of relief.

" _If he had kept goin' down_ tha' _way, he woulda gone straight to the castle!"_

* * *

Harry was beginning to feel confident again. He felt like he was making progress, like he was getting closer. From certain angles, he could even see the castle in the distance—an imposing fortress atop a tall hill, shrouded in a mysterious mist. Sometimes, if he listened closely enough, Harry was certain that he could hear the cries of Dudley emanating from it, distraught and afraid.

_That's impossible,_ Harry would tell himself every time he thought this. _The castle is way too far away to hear anything coming from it. It's just your mind playing tricks on you. Dudley is fine… He can't hurt him; he won't do anything to harm Dudley…_

_Not until my time has run out, at least._

Harry wondered how much time he had left. He paused at the next corner, taking a moment to think.

The walls all looked the same, the flat stones beneath his feet were identical to one another. He _felt_ like he was making progress, but what if he was just walking in circles? It was possible that he was wandering in a giant loop, not truly getting any closer to the castle at all.

Harry caught sight of a small, white rock on the ground, and an idea came to him. He picked it up, grinning victoriously as, when he scraped it across one of the stones on the floor, it left a mark.

"Perfect," he said, drawing an arrow on it. Harry continued with a bit of a bounce in his step, using the rock to leave a mark at every corner. That way, if he _was_ going in circles, he would know which way he had gone before.

"I'm on my way, Dudley," Harry declared, impressed with his own cleverness. He would have this labyrinth solved with time to spare.

For a time, Harry was positive that it was working. After a few minutes of walking, he came across one of his marks, one which pointed left. This time, he went right.

It was only when he stopped to look at the castle, recalling that he had _just_ seen Hogwarts from the specific angle where he could clearly see its tallest tower, that he realized it was not.

"No, that isn't right," he murmured. Harry turned around and glanced down at the arrow he'd just passed. For a moment, Harry was simply surprised… but then his blood boiled, enraged in an instant.

"Someone has been changing my marks!" he roared. The arrow he'd drawn, which had been pointing left just a moment ago, was now turned, facing ahead. Harry ran back the way he came, looking in every direction for the culprit, but there was no one to be found.

Harry snarled, chucking the rock into the distance. He slowly sank to the ground, leaning against a wall and burying his face in his hands, deciding he needed a moment to gather himself.

"What a horrible place," he lamented. "It's not fair!"

"That's right. It's not fair."

Harry looked up, and was once more struck dumb with shock. Everything had changed!

Just a moment ago, he'd been amid a plethora of turns and openings. Now, after just a few seconds with his eyes closed, the walls had closed around him, trapping him inside a small space—in the middle of which was, bizarrely enough, a hat on a stool.

Except… He was not completely trapped, perhaps...

Harry jumped to his feet. There were four doors that had appeared along the walls—identical in that they were made of stone, but unique in that they each had a different drawing of animal carved onto them. One had a badger, another an eagle, the third a lion, and the fourth a snake.

They also had no handles.

Harry went around to each one of them, pushing on the stone surface, but they would not budge. He was stuck in this section of labyrinth.

Harry looked for the source of the voice he'd heard as he walked around to each of the sealed doors. Another helpful worm, perhaps? His eyes scanned the walls, but there were no deep crevices here, and he saw no sign of life. "Hello?" he called. "Who said that?"

Nothing.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Harry turned his attention towards the object that had appeared in the center. It was a very old-looking hat, with a wide rim and pointed tip. It looked to Harry like something a seasoned wizard might wear.

For a long time, Harry examined it, walking around the stool in a circle as he did. He cautiously picked it up, bracing himself for something to happen. Nothing did.

Then, feeling as though there was only one thing to do, Harry sat on the stool. Moving slowly and carefully, he placed the hat on his head.

"Hello."

Harry almost fell off the stool.

He probably shouldn't have been surprised that it was a talking hat—he had, after all, already spoken to a man with a skeleton face and a fuzzy worm—but he was. "It was _you_ who said that," he gasped, peering up at the rim of the hat. It was so large that it nearly fell over his eyes. "Agreeing with me that this place isn't fair."

"You're quite right, Potter. It's not."

Harry fought the urge to tear the hat off his head and throw it to the ground. "How do you know my name?"

"I know all sorts of things. And please don't throw me on the ground, I'm an old bonnet. I don't think my stitching could take it."

"You… you can _hear my thoughts?"_

"Something like that. But don't let it frighten you, that is what I was made to do. If you want to move on from here, you're going to need my help."

"…Okay," Harry said, swallowing thickly. "All right. How do I get out of here? How do I make those doors open?"

"You can only make _one_ door open. And you make it open by making a choice."

"Okay," Harry repeated. He looked at each of the doors—a badger, an eagle, a lion, a snake. "Which one is the right choice, then?"

"None of them are right and none of them are wrong…" the hat answered in a wise voice. "However, some of them are more wrong than others."

"Oh. Well, that's enlightening," Harry muttered sarcastically.

"Allow me to explain. Each of these doors represents different traits—all of which are valued, and all of which are important. What really matters, however, is which set of characteristics _you_ find most important. Tell me, Potter, what do you think will help you attain your heart's desire most: loyalty, intelligence, bravery, or cunning?"

Before Harry could contemplate that, the hat went on. "The badger is the emblem of loyalty and kind-heartedness. If you are a just and devoted man, then this is the path for you. The eagle is the emblem of wisdom and logic. If you value intelligence the most, then choose this door."

Harry's gaze flickered from the badger to the eagle, listening with rapt attention. "The lion," the hat continued, and Harry focused now on it, "is the emblem of boldness and bravery. If you think that courage is what will help you most in this labyrinth, then this is the choice you must make.

"And last, the snake."

Harry shifted on the stool so that he was now facing the last door. "The serpent is the emblem of ambition and cunning. If you believe that being resourceful and clever will help you achieve your ends, then you should select this door."

Harry stared at the doors, considering each of them and the hat's words.

He certainly hoped that he was a kind-hearted individual, and knew that loyalty was important, but he didn't think those qualities would be the most helpful, considering his circumstances. He decided against the badger.

The next three were harder.

Of course, intelligence was necessary… But then again, this place did not seem logical in the slightest. All his _intelligent_ decisions thus far had gotten him exactly nowhere. The labyrinth didn't conform with sound reasoning.

He decided against the eagle.

"I think it is between the lion and the snake," Harry said, looking back and forth from each of these animals.

"I knew it would be," the hat sighed, and Harry thought he heard a bit of resignation in its voice. "Would you like some help deciding?"

"Please."

"The labyrinth is a dark and disquieting place, Potter," the hat said bluntly. "You will face your worst fears and great temptations if you are to succeed. And you can succeed, truly… but only if you do not give up. No matter what obstacles you face, no matter how hopeless it may seem, you must carry on. That is the biggest key to solving the labyrinth. So… which quality do you think will help you _persevere_? Courage, or ambition?"

Well, when the hat put it that way, the choice seemed obvious. "If I'm going to face my greatest fears, then courage would appear to be the clear answer," he murmured. He was about to choose the lion, but then he hesitated.

_Take nothing for granted,_ Harry reminded himself. _Nothing is what it seems, here..._

"But maybe the obvious choice isn't the best one."

Harry stared at the serpent, recalling the way that the Dark Lord had conjured up a snake himself. He had thrown it at Harry, and then… Then he had seemed so shocked, when Harry had simply told it not to hurt him…

"If I ask you a question, will you answer me honestly? Since you said you know all sorts of things," Harry said, peering up at the rim of the hat again.

"Of course. What would you like to know?"

"If the Immortal King needed to make this same decision… which door would _he_ pick?"

The hat was quiet for a long time. Finally, after a nearly unbearable stretch of silence, it said, "…The snake."

Harry nodded. He looked at the lion and the bravery which it represented, feeling a very strong pull towards it. It felt like the door he was supposed to go through, like that path was his destiny—somehow, the lion felt like _home_.

He turned away from it. "I choose the snake," Harry said, trying to sound confident in his decision.

He hoped he was not making a terrible mistake. The hat said nothing. Harry watched in awe as, the moment he'd chosen, the door with the serpent became transformed. The stone turned into wood, the carving of the snake became colored in a vibrant green with silver markings. It was like it had come to life.

The other doors remained stone, lifeless. Harry could tell that they were closed to him forever.

Hands shaking slightly, Harry took the hat off and set it back on the stool. He approached the door with the serpent… and realized only when he was standing directly in front of it that, despite how it had changed, there was still no handle.

"Well, how I am supposed to get in?" he balked, turning around to ask the hat—but it had gone. Harry had only had his back turned for a moment, yet the stool and hat both had vanished.

"Great," Harry muttered. He ran a hand though his hair, peering up at the emerald snake. It really did almost look alive, the way its silvery eyes gleamed down at him…

He wasn't sure why he did it, or why he thought it might work. Without thinking, Harry stared into the serpent's gaze and made a command.

" _Open."_

The word left his mouth in a foreign manner, like it was the first time Harry had ever spoken in his life. The door slowly swung open.

Harry was grinning like a fool as he passed through, a surge of triumph rushing through his veins. "I think I'm getting better at this," he said, beaming as he marched onwards.

"It's a piece of cake!"

The ground broke apart.

Harry screamed, his body instantly swallowed by darkness. He was sliding down a slick and cold tunnel, one which curved and coiled as he was pulled deeper, deeper, deeper…

* * *

The Dark Lord was intrigued.

It was not often that a human came to his realm who could grasp his attention, but this one, this boy with the green eyes and glasses, had certainly done so.

The baby… not nearly so much.

The King could not stomach the sound of its eternal wailing; the high-pitched cries were painful to his ears. He had handed the child off to one of his masked followers the moment he'd returned to the castle, and hadn't touched it since.

His most loyal monsters, his Death Eaters... The King smirked as he looked down upon his most devoted subjects from his place on his throne, in _his_ castle, in _his_ world.

"Atrocious little thing, isn't he?"

Bellatrix, his deadliest lieutenant, spoke with as much disdain in her voice as the Dark Lord had. She was currently holding the infant, attempting to get the child to sleep, but it refused to stop crying.

The Dark Lord could not stand it a moment longer. "Silence it," he commanded. Bellatrix immediately obeyed, casting a wordless spell. The baby continued to cry, but no sound came from its mouth.

The King stood, descending the steps of his throne room and approaching his crystal ball. It had been nearly an hour since he had left Harry on the outskirts of the labyrinth. He should have come across Severus, by now…

"Show me the boy," he murmured, staring into the depths of the pristine crystal. The Death Eaters craned their necks to see as well, skeletal faces with eyes alight with curiosity.

The surface shimmered, and then the vision appeared. The Dark Lord was stunned by what he saw.

_How could it be?_ It was not possible…

The Death Eaters all looked upon the face of their master, anxiously waiting for him to speak. Slowly, quietly, he did.

"…He is in the Chamber of Secrets."


	4. The Dark Chamber

Harry couldn't stop.

He tried desperately to slow his rapid descent down a dark and curving tunnel, but could find no purchase along the slick walls. It felt like being in a waterslide, only far more disturbing and not at all fun.

Just as he thought he might be stuck in a twisted passageway forever, Harry tumbled from an opening at its end, landing on his back on a pile of something hard and painful.

Harry groaned, willing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was hardly any light, here, wherever he was…

He shifted and sat up, pushing against the things he'd landed on. Harry looked down, curious, and his heart froze in his chest.

_Bones._

He had landed on a pile of what was undeniably human  _bones._

Harry yelped and scrambled off them, shoving aside a pelvis and knocking over a skull and oh,  _god_ , how many people had died down here?

_Was he next?_

Harry was panting by the time he finally made it to level ground—ground which was cold and hard like stone, and covered in a thin layer of water. He looked up. The tunnel which he had fallen from was far too high to reach, and even if he could somehow get to it, there was no way he would be able to climb up such a slick passageway.

There was only one option, then.

Harry turned away from the pile of bones and began to walk.

It reminded him of a cave, this place. The wet ground, the frigid air. Harry moved slowly through the space, listening intently.

 _Something_  had to have made that pile of bones…

Harry shuddered.  _Dudley_.  _Think of Dudley… I'll make it through this, I will…_

…Had he made the wrong choice?

Should he have picked the door with the lion, after all? Harry's confidence waned with every step he took, feeling like he was wandering aimlessly in the dark. Was this place to be the end of his journey? Was he destined to die down here, in the lower levels of some impossible labyrinth?

It was so quiet, so still. The silence was suffocating.

" _Lumos."_

Harry let out a high, strangled shriek at the sudden sound. A spark of light ignited before him, and an illuminated, hovering skull was inches from his face—oh, no, Harry thought, it was the skull he'd knocked over, come to life to kill him—

"I wouldn't scream down here, if I were you," came a familiar, drawling voice.

"You might  _wake_  something."

Harry clutched at his chest, his heart hammering against his ribcage. "Oh," he breathed, eyes focusing in the light. Harry was soon able to make out that the skull-like mask was, in fact, attached to a body. "It's  _you_. You scared me half to death!"

"Shame I didn't finish the job," Snape said emotionlessly. "It would have made my role much simpler."

Harry scowled, his anxiety momentarily eclipsed by annoyance. "What role?" he snapped. "Aggravating me enough to make me tear my hair out?"

A pair of dark eyes flickered over Harry's mess of hair from beneath the mask. "That would be an improvement… but no. You should not be down here, Potter. It is not safe."

Harry scoffed. "Yeah, I gathered that," he said, gesturing towards ominous space and back towards the bones. "Er… What is it that's down here, exactly?" he asked in a would-be casual voice, fear once more licking up his spine. "That might wake up…?"

"Trust me when I say that you do not want to know," Snape said. He moved the light source closer, and Harry saw that he was holding looked to be a smooth stick with a glowing tip.

"What's that?" he said, pointing to it.

"A wand."

" _A wand?"_  Harry gasped, all thoughts of sleeping monsters and human remains briefly forgotten. "Wow! How do I get one of those?"

"You don't," Snape muttered. Harry's face fell. "You have, somehow, landed yourself in the most dangerous part of the Labyrinth. You stand now in the Chamber of Secrets."

"The Chamber of Secrets?" Harry repeated. "Why is it called that?"

"Because this is where people come when they are doomed to forget," Snape said quietly. "Those who the Immortal King has decided are not strong enough to become his  _personal_  monsters find themselves here."

" _Personal_  monsters?"

"His followers. His Death Eaters." Snape sounded disturbed by his own explanation. "Those of us who have proven ourselves worthy in his eyes… What your infant cousin may become someday, if the Dark Lord doesn't decide to toss him in here at some point, instead."

Harry's face paled. "But… But you don't look like a monster," he said, leaning a bit closer to Snape and examining his eyes behind the mask.

Snape backed away like Harry was about to strike him. "I am," he snapped. "We are  _all_  his monsters."

Before Harry could argue, Snape motioned towards the space around him, brandishing his glowing wand with one hand. "Those who are  _not_  worthy enough wind up here. They become lost to despair, and their secrets slip away from their minds until the Dark Lord has collected all of them… until he has stolen their very souls, and they die as hollow shells."

Harry's pulse quickened and he shook his head. "But  _I_ don't want to forget!" he shouted. "I shouldn't be here!"

"Precisely what I've said," Snape drawled. "Which is why I have come. I am here to show you the way out of the chamber."

"Really? Oh, thank you!"

Snape turned and began to walk away. "Follow me, and I will show you the way back to the beginning of the labyrinth."

" _What?_  The  _beginning_  of the labyrinth!?"

Snape looked over his shoulder and glared. "Quiet," he hissed.

"You can't take me back to the beginning," Harry said in a lower voice. "Take me back to where I was before. I was finally making progress."

Snape turned and faced him fully, his skeletal mask flickering in the light of his wand. "Either I take you back to the beginning, or I leave you here. Those are your options."

"The Immortal King put you up to this, didn't he?" Harry put his hands on his hips, not willing to have to start all over. When Snape didn't deny it, he knew he was right. "Well, just because he told you to do that doesn't mean you have to listen. Just take me back to where I was, and…and  _say_  you led me back to the beginning."

Snape let out a short, mirthless laugh. "And why would I do something so perilous and idiotic as lie to the Dark Lord for  _you?"_

"Because… Because I don't think you're a monster. I think you're a good person in a bad situation."

Snape's eyes widened in surprise. Harry wasn't sure why he was certain about this—maybe it was the obvious self-resentment in Snape's voice, but Harry could tell that he harbored a great amount of remorse.

Perhaps Severus Snape regretted becoming a man called a monster in a skeleton mask.

"Please, just take me back to where I was."

Without knowing why he was doing it, Harry reached forward and grabbed Snape's hands, making the wandlight illuminate his own face. Snape's fingers felt warm and human, to him.

Snape's entire body went rigid at the unexpected advance. He looked at Harry's pleading eyes and seemed momentarily paralyzed by them.

"Please, Severus."

He jumped and wrenched his hands away from Harry's at the sound of his name. Snape began marching away, his cloak billowing behind him. "Fine," he muttered, and though he sounded absolutely furious with himself, Harry's heart danced with joy. "I will help you this  _one_  time, but after this, you are on your own."

"Thank you!" Harry shouted, quickly scrambling to follow him. "You won't regret it, I—"

"Keep your voice  _down_ , Potter," Snape seethed again. "Shut your mouth and follow me."

Harry grinned merrily and obeyed.

* * *

They walked through the darkness for a long time, until Snape led them to a small door in the wall which Harry was sure he would have never found on his own. He tapped his wand on it once, and the door swung open. "This way," he said.

Harry paused, skeptical again. "How do I know you're not lying to me?" he asked. "How do I know you're not just taking me back to the beginning, after all?"

"You don't," Snape drawled. "But what other choice do you have?"

He didn't wait for Harry to respond. Snape stepped through the doorway, and Harry, realizing that he  _didn't_  have another option, followed.

They entered into a stone corridor, a much nicer looking area of the labyrinth than the chamber. Wall sconces lit up the hall, illuminating massive paintings and full suits of knights' armor lining the walls like hollow guards. Snape muttered the word ' _knox'_. His wand's light went out and he put it in his pocket.

Harry peered up at the paintings. They seemed to be mostly portraits, and—

"Oh!" he shouted, pointing at a painting of an old, bitter looking man. "That picture just  _blinked_!"

"Does that offend you?" the old man responded dryly. He began examining his fingernails, looking bored.

Harry gaped at it. "Ugh. Of course the paintings talk, too," he muttered.

"You are in a labyrinth full of magic, Potter," Snape responded, like he was explaining something to a small child. "Nothing is what it seems."

Harry did his best after that to not look at the paintings, but found it took a significant amount of effort. He felt like there was something moving in the background of each of them, like an entity other than the well-rendered eyes of the portrayed men and women was following them as they walked…

Harry shuddered and tried to ignore it. "Where are we now, then?" he asked. "If we're no longer in the Changer of Secrets."

"The dungeons. Fortunately for you, I know them well."

Snape increased his speed, and Harry rushed to keep up. The sensation of something stalking them from beyond the walls never left him. Harry searched for something to say, anything to take his mind off it.

"Severus," he said, and the way Snape's shoulders tensed at being called by his first name made Harry smirk. He decided right then he would never call him anything else, if it annoyed him so. "Why is he called the Immortal King?"

"Because he is immortal," Snape answered condescendingly.

"Well, yeah, I assumed as much" Harry muttered. "What I  _should_  have asked was… how did he become immortal? He didn't used to be the way he is now, right? In the book I read about him,  _Flight from Death_ , it only said that he did something terrible to gain immortality… But it doesn't explain what that was."

Snape paused to cast him a dark look. "Even if I could tell you, I wouldn't," he said. "Believe me when I say you don't want to know that, either."

He kept walking. Harry followed and didn't ask again.

" _Beware…"_

" _Beware…"_

Deep, ominous voices began echoing in the hall, but it didn't appear to be the portraits which spoke… In fact, Harry noticed with a sense of foreboding, the paintings had all become dark and blank, like the people within had walked out of their own frames... "Okay, where are  _those_  voices coming from?" he asked, looking around them.

"The suits of armor. Ignore them. They are proclaiming false warnings. There are a lot of them, in the labyrinth…  _especially_  when you are going the right way."

" _The path you are on shall lead to certain destruction…"_

" _Turn back while you still can…"_

Harry shuddered at the sinister tenors. Snape, at least, seemed unworried about them, though this did little to make Harry feel better.

They reached the end of the hall, where they needed to make a choice—right or left. "This way," Snape said, pointing to the left. They were just about to head in that direction when the sharp, clashing sound of metal caused Harry to stop. Harry slowly looked behind him, his blood having run cold in an instant.

The silver helmets of the suits of armor had all turned as one to face them. Harry felt as though they were staring  _right_  at him, despite the fact that they had no eyes with which to see.

"You are a fool, Harry Potter…  _and you will lose everything."_

Harry felt like he'd just been doused with ice water. Snape, too, had frozen in place, and Harry could tell at once that this was not a normal false warning.

Because the knights had not spoken in the same deep, foreboding tone as before… but with the voice of the Dark Lord.

"Go," Snape commanded, and even through the mask, Harry could see his anxiety. "Run. Quickly!"

Harry didn't wait to be told twice. He took off, Snape at his side, his blood rushing with adrenaline. Harry's eyes flickered to the empty paintings as they sprinted, and he swore he saw something moving within them, chasing them like an animate shadow…

They didn't get far.

They both tripped on something, like an invisible wire had been placed right in front of them. Harry was flung forward, landing on his chest and hitting his chin against the floor, biting his tongue when he hit the ground. He rolled onto his back and coughed up blood.

Snape had landed somewhere at his side, a pile of black clothing convulsing on the ground. Harry pushed himself up as soon as he was able, his own chest still heaving.

He was just about to crawl over to Snape and see if he was all right when the air left his lungs.

A heavy, hard boot landed right on the hand he had just begun to reach with, slamming his palm to the floor and making him gasp in pain. Harry looked up, eyes slowly trailing up a dark, leather-clad thigh, flowing cloak, and finally coming to rest on a face that looked as though it had been carved from marble, it was so white and pristine.

The Immortal King towered over him, his obsidian eyes gleaming.

"Harry," he purred, lips curling into a smile. "So  _good_  to see you again."


	5. The Old Fool

The Dark Lord lifted his boot from Harry’s hand. Harry instantly scrambled backwards, ignoring the searing pain from his fall. He wiped the blood from his mouth, panting and frantic. He was just thankful that his glasses had somehow, mercifully, remained on his face and had not broken.

The King smirked at his hasty retreat, but turned his attention to Snape.

“Severus,” he said silkily, stepping toward the masked man on the ground. Snape started like he’d been electrocuted at the sound, immediately forcing himself into a subservient, kneeling position.

“My Lord,” he said, and though his voice was even, Harry could see his shoulders trembling. “What a pleasant s—”

_“Stand.”_

The Dark Lord’s velvety voice went cold with the one-worded command. Snape stopped speaking at once and obeyed, getting to his feet, still visibly quivering.

“Severus, Severus… My half-blooded Death Eater, my so-called _Prince_ …” The King walked around Snape as he spoke, making Harry think of a cat encircling its prey. “Could it possibly be that you are _helping_ this boy?”

The Dark Lord paused directly in front of him, inclining his head slightly towards Harry but keeping his eyes locked on Snape.

“Helping? I-in what sense?”

“In the sense that you were leading him _closer_ to the castle, Severus.”

“What? No, of course not, my Lord! I was taking him back to the beginning, just as—”

“You _what?”_ Harry finally found the wherewithal to stand, jumping to his feet and scowling. The King ignored his outburst, and his eyes did not leave Snape’s.

“I was being deceptive, my King, I would never do anything other than—”

Snape declarations died when the Dark Lord acted, moving with such a swiftness and agility that it was almost imperceptible. The King suddenly had his hand around Snape’s throat, clearly far too tight, lifting him a few inches from the ground with one hand. The Dark Lord held him so close to his face that it appeared he might sink his teeth into Snape’s throat and rip him apart like a murderous, vicious cobra.

“If I thought for one second, Severus,” the King hissed, his handsome face contorted in a cold rage, “then I would be forced to do something drastic… Something _pure_ …”

The dark inflection on the last word made Harry’s heart stop. He opened his mouth, about to shout at him to release Snape, to stop _choking_ him to death, when the Dark Lord dropped him. Snape fell to the ground, coughing and taking in deep, ragged breaths.

The King ignored him and turned towards Harry, all traces of horrifying anger gone. “And you, Harry…”

Harry’s pulse lurched back to life, his heart thumping erratically at the advance.

“My, my… it seems you’ve been injured,” the Dark Lord murmured, his dark eyes lingering on Harry’s throbbing jaw. “Though that blame lies more with Severus than with me... You would not have been wounded if you had not run, and Severus know _very_ well that it is hopeless to run from the Dark Lord…”

He reached forward in a slow and deliberate motion—the antithesis with which he had just ensnared Snape—and gently placed his fingers under Harry’s chin, lightly touching the injured, sensitive skin there. He examined Harry’s jawline and mouth like he found them intriguing, like he was memorizing the shape of his chin and curve of his lips.

…It was _spell-binding_ , the way the King’s eyes affected him. Harry felt numb, paralyzed as those black irises flickered back to his, as his gloved hands cupped Harry’s face almost affectionately.

Then he whispered a word that Harry didn’t understand, and Harry felt a warm, tingly sensation on his jaw. He instinctually tried to back away, but the Dark Lord’s grip on his face suddenly tightened, and the sensation escalated.

“What are—”

It was over before he could finish his question. The Dark Lord let him go, and when Harry lifted his own hand up to run it beneath his chin, he could feel that the deep scratch was gone, and his tongue was no longer bleeding.

“You… you healed me?” he asked, breathless.

The King smiled and responded to his question with one of his own. “How are you enjoying my Labyrinth?”

He towered over Harry, eyes glinting with arrogance. Lucidity crashed over Harry’s numb mind like a tidal wave—the Labyrinth, the time limit, _Dudley_.

And this deceptively enchanting, smug Dark Lord was the cause of all of it. “Your _Labyrinth_?” Harry scoffed, jutting his newly-healed chin out. A strange spark of boldness he had never known before flickered to life in his chest, hot and unstoppable.

“It’s easy.”

Snape inhaled sharply from where he was on the ground. The King’s eyes widened in surprise before he smiled—but it was a much more sinister, dangerous grin. “Easy?” he repeated. “ _Really_?” He tilted his head to one side, eyes gleaming. “Why, I would hate to be easy, Harry… What do you say I up the stakes?”

He faced his cowering Death Eater, one arm extended. “Severus,” he said. “Your wand.”

Harry was shocked to see that Severus did not instantly obey his supposed master’s demand. He stood there, clearly in a state of disbelief, despite the mask concealing his features. “…My wand, my Lord?”

“Yes, Severus… _now_.”

“But you are s-so adept at wandless magic, master; and besides, you have the—”

_“Yet I am requesting yours.”_

It was no longer merely a command, but a sinister threat. Snape did not hesitate again. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand, shakily handing it to the Immortal King as though the action pained him.

The Dark Lord took and waved it lazily to his side, and Harry knew at once that the wand was _not_ necessary for the magic he was performing, for he had done this once before without one. That same, shimmering hourglass made of silver serpents appeared, the top half still much fuller of emeralds than the bottom…

Yet as Harry watched, the green spheres began to pour, far too rapidly, into the bottom basin. “Hey!” Harry yelled, incensed. “You said I had thirteen hours!”

But so many of the emeralds had fallen into the bottom half that there was no way Harry now had more than three.

“That’s cheating, that’s—that’s not fair!”

“You say that so often,” the Dark Lord drawled. “I wonder what your basis for comparison is…”

He then moved in another inhumanly fast motion, suddenly so close to Harry that he could feel his breath on his face. “You think my Labyrinth is _easy_?” the Dark Lord whispered—and his eyes were so intensely focused on Harry’s, so dark and mesmerizing and Harry wasn’t sure if he was ensnared by the gaze of an angel or a devil.

The moment that thought crossed his mind, the Dark Lord laughed—soft, breathy, _genuine_. “Definitely the latter,” he said, stepping away and leaving Harry numb again.

“To say you have been ensnared by a devil would be… _most_ fitting, gorgeous boy…”

Harry’s face immediately burned, so hot he felt like he’d been lit on fire.

_Gorgeous?_

The Dark Lord smirked and lifted Snape’s wand before Harry could recover. He pointed it down the hall, and an ominous sound echoed from beyond the shadows, like something slick and massive dragging along the walls…

“Remember,” the Dark Lord said, smiling with his teeth exposed—such a seductive figure for someone so terrible.

“…running is hopeless.”

Then he vanished, taking the cursed hourglass and Snape’s wand with him.

“Potter!” Snape’s voice snapped Harry’s focus to him. He was pushing himself to his feet, his eyes shining with alarm. “We need to go, now—”

“What is that?” Harry strained to see what was making that sound from beyond the darkness. “What did he—”

All the blood seemed to leave Harry’s body at once.

Coming from the shadows was something coiling, something _living_ —it was a massive, lethal-looking thing, with vine-like appendages that looked somewhat like tentacles, and Harry could not tell if it was a monster or a plant—

“Devil’s Snare!” Snape shouted, grabbing Harry by the shoulder and all but dragging him with him. “Run!”

Harry finally listened. They sprinted down the hall from the direction they’d come from, away from the undulating, animalistic branches that were growing larger and more animated as they followed. Harry glanced over his shoulder when he heard a sharp cracking sound, and saw, to his horror, that the Devil’s Snare had snatched a portrait from the wall and _crushed_ it, leaving it a pile of wood and shredded canvas on the floor—

Harry could only imagine what would happen if it caught either of _them_ … and it was gaining.

“We can’t—outrun it—” Harry gasped between breaths. They turned a corner, where the Devil’s Snare began to make quick work of the empty suits of armor they had run past. The sound of screeching metal filled the corridor, bits of crumpled silver littering the ground.

“Only fire—kills it—” Snape responded. “No wand—”

 _We’re doomed,_ Harry thought with dread. The door which they had come through from the Chamber of Secrets was too far away, they would never make it there before it caught them—they were going to die by being crushed to death—

Unless…

Harry glanced up at the empty paintings which lined the hall. He did not think he had imagined it, before, when he had noticed something following them… Something in the background of the portrtaits, something dark…

Harry thought they were just paintings, but nothing was quite what it seemed, here…

Throwing all caution to the wind, Harry grabbed Snape by the wrist and pulled him to the side. “Come on!” he shouted, pointing towards a painting. “Through here!”

“What—?”

Harry didn’t waver, just reached into a square of darkness outlined by an old, gilded frame—

And his arm went straight through.

Harry shot Snape a somewhat delirious grin as he hopped through, pulling the baffled and panting man in a skeleton mask with him. Snape climbed through the frame just as a tendril of the Devil’s Snare was about to grasp his ankle.

For a terrifying moment, Harry feared the monstrous plant would follow them into the painting, but it didn’t. It couldn’t seem to pass through the impossible barrier.

Instead, it did something equally distressing.

The Devil’s Snare snatched the frame from the wall, just as it had the other paintings, and demolished it. Harry and Snape watched as their portal was smashed and destroyed.

Darkness, bleak and absolute, swallowed them whole.

“…Well,” Harry said after a time, still breathing heavily from their run. He tried to hide the fear in his voice, and knew he was failing terribly. “That was something, eh?”

“You _idiot_ ,” Snape spat, also still winded. “You absolute _moron_.”

“Moron! I just saved our skins, didn’t I? By thinking of the paintings.”

“ _You_ are the reason he sent a killer plant after us!” Snape snarled. “Telling him the Labyrinth is _easy_ …”

Harry couldn’t see him, but he imagined Snape was shaking his head in exasperation. “Well, he was just choking you for helping me— _if_ you’re helping me,” Harry suddenly said. “Unless you’re a dirty liar, and you were taking me back to the beginning, after all.”

“I wasn’t,” Snape muttered. “I was going to take you back to where you were before. I just said that to _him_.”

“How do I know you’re not lying now?”

“You don’t. But I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? I have no idea where we are. I’ve never stepped into a painting before. For all I know, we’re stuck in here.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Harry said with false cheer. “I bet there’s another way out. Come on.”

Harry blindly reached out until he found Snape’s arm, then grabbed his hand decisively. He could feel Snape’s muscles tensing like he found Harry’s touch offensive, but he didn’t say anything, and he didn’t fight him when Harry pulled him along.

For a few minutes, they said nothing. The darkness stretched on and on, looking endless, but Harry refused to let despair cloud his mind. “Why do you let him treat you so terribly?” he asked, breaking the suffocating silence. “Why don’t you stand up to him?”

Snape let out a short and bitter laugh. “Stand up to the Dark Lord? He is the most powerful sorcerer to ever exist. I don’t know if you just saw, Potter,  but he repaid your _mild_ _insult_ with a murderous plant. Imagine what he does to those who outright oppose him.”

“Kills them in some other horrible fashion?”

“If they are very lucky.”

Harry wasn’t sure what Snape meant, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t tell him even if he did ask. “What did he mean, when he called you a _half-blooded Death Eater_ … and a Prince?” Harry tried to see him through the darkness, but couldn’t. “Are you a _Prince_ , Severus?”

“No,” Snape snapped, yanking his arm away from Harry’s grasp. “I’m nothing but a Death Eater. The Dark Lord’s personal slave; a _monster_.”

His tone was frigid and stern, and Harry knew that arguing with him would be pointless. “…He said he’d do something drastic if he thought you were helping me,” Harry said cautiously. “Something pure… What did he mean by that?”

Another stretch of silence. Harry reached out and grabbed Snape’s hand again—the last thing they needed was to get separated in this pit of darkness. “…He was referring to the most terrible thing in the Labyrinth,” Snape said quietly. “The pureblood.”

“What is that?”

Harry was surprised when Snape clutched at his hand, actually tightening his hold around Harry’s fingers rather than pull away. Harry glanced at him, shocked even further when he saw what looked to be honest concern in his eyes. “I pray that you never find out.”

Harry stared, wondering where this protectiveness was suddenly coming from, why Snape’s eyes were alight with such trepidation…

Or alight at all…

“Hey,” Harry said abruptly. “I can see you! Where is that light coming from…?”

They turned and saw it at the same time. Far above them, distant but clearly visible, was another portal. A pinprick of light in the sea of blackness, and the sight of it was like a beacon of hope.

They exchanged a grin and headed towards the light.

It was a circular passage at the top of a very tall ladder, seemingly floating in space, attached to nothing. Snape eyed it and the ladder warily. “I believe I know where this will lead us,” he said. He glanced at Harry for a moment, like he might tell him to go first, but then shook his head and began to scale the ladder. Harry followed a moment later, relief that they were not trapped in this unsettling world of darkness rushing through him.

Snape climbed through the hole. He reached down to Harry afterwards, grabbing his hand and helping him up.

The daylight was nearly blinding after being in darkness for so long. They were back outside, once more in the twilight world of the vast Labyrinth.

Harry scrambled out of what transpired to be a _statue_. They had just climbed out of the back of a large, stone sculpture of woman. She had one eye and a crooked smile.

“The statue of Gunhilda the Gorsemoor,” Snape murmured. “She moves all the time, and I knew that you could the statue to get to other places in the Labyrinth, but the passage was already open, for us… Someone outside must have done it…”

Harry could see that he was right. The door of the passage, which was the curved top of the witch’s humpback, was swung wide open. Snape quickly turned and looked in all directions, but there was no one in sight.

The moment Harry stepped away from the statue, the door slammed shut of its own accord. “Maybe it just opened by itself,” Harry said, shrugging. “It’s capable of movement, apparently.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed at the stone sculpture suspiciously. “Perhaps,” he murmured, but he did not look appeased. He shook his head, and when he spoke next, it was in a much firmer tone. “Well. Here you are, back in the Labyrinth. You are now on your own.”

He began to walk away. “What—hey! Wait!” Harry yelled. “Don’t go!”

Snape paused and tilted his head at him, the eyes behind the skeletal mask looking judgmental. “You… You said you would take me back to where I was before,” Harry said, not wanting to admit the truth—that he just didn’t want to be alone again. “This is someplace else. I have no idea where we are, now.”

“You’re in the _Labyrinth_ ,” Snape sneered. He pointed over Harry’s head, to where the castle loomed in the distance. It was much further away than it had been _before_ Harry fell into the Chamber of Secrets. “Try heading that way.”

Then Snape turned and stalked away again.

“I—aw, come on!” Harry shouted, chasing after him. “Just help me for a bit longer.”

“Helping you has been nothing but _horrible_ for me,” Snape responded bitterly. He did not stop walking, this time. “I have been threatened, choked, nearly killed by Devil’s Snare—I had my _wand_ taken from me…”

His angry turned swiftly to despair. Harry could sense that this, having your wand taken from you, was a grave and terrible thing. “So… So it can’t possibly get worse then, eh?” he said brightly.

He smiled. Snape stopped walking, but Harry could tell it was only so that he could glare at him properly. “You are absolutely insufferable, aren’t you?” he seethed. “Unfathomably persistent.”

“It’s a gift.” Harry laughed, smiling more widely. “But really. Just help me get to where I was before, and I promise I’ll leave you alone. You saw what he did, I don’t have that much time, anymore… and I could tell I was getting close! What, would you rather go gather more flowers that you aren’t using the roots for?”

Something about that statement had a profound effect on Snape. His bitterness melted away, and he appeared, for a fleeting moment, to be completely lost in Harry’s eyes.

He looked so sad.

But a second later and he was shaking his head, sour and glowering once more. “Insufferable,” he repeated, and Harry’s heart sang of triumph. “Fine. Back to where you were, and then _you are on your own._ ”

“Deal,” Harry said.

They walked in silence. Severus scowled the entire time, but Harry walked with a bit of a bounce in his step, oddly optimistic. He supposed that having a companion—resentful and unwilling as he was—made all the difference in the world.

Harry almost stumbled when Snape’s arm suddenly shot out in front of him, keeping him from going forward. “Wh—”

Snape cut him off with a sharp hiss. Then Harry heard it—the sound of footsteps, slow and scuffling, were coming from around the corner…

Before either of them could react, a hunched, cloaked person shuffled into view.

At least… Harry thought it was a person.

An old, decrepit-looking man was walking towards them. He had off-kilter, half-moon spectacles, a crooked nose, a long, bright white beard, and an extremely hunched back. His eyes were closed and he was mumbling to himself in a quiet voice. One of his hands was blackened and withered, like it had been burnt in a terrible fire. In his other hand, which was whole, he held a small container with a handle, like some kind of collection box.

But what was most jarring about this man was what he was _wearing_.

His robes were long and tattered, obviously old, but Harry could tell that at one point they must have been _fabulous_. Celestial designs glinted from beneath layers of dust and grime, and spots of blue revealed that what was now a dull article of clothing used to be a brilliant, royal blue.

Then there was his hat.

A headdress like Harry had never seen before was resting on top of the old man’s hair. It was the neck and head of a beautiful bird, a crimson creature so bright and lovely it was like something from a fantasy novel. It was so overwhelmingly vibrant that the man beneath it seemed even duller and feebler than he otherwise would have in comparison.

Then the bird opened its eyes, and Harry almost screamed. _It was alive._

“Oh,” Snape said, looking relieved and unconcerned at the man with a _living bird hat on his head_ —the exact opposite reaction Harry was having. “It’s just _you_.”

The bird cocked its head and let out a low, somber note. It was a beautiful sound. The old man stopped mumbling and blinked his eyes open. “Hm?”

He looked around like he was in a daze, and his eyes settled on Harry. They were bright blue—aside from the creature on his head, they were easily the liveliest feature he had.

“Oh!” he cried upon locking eyes with Harry. “Oh, my dear boy!”

He moved towards Harry with a smile so sudden and wide it was unnerving. Snape instantly stepped between them. “Carry on, Albus,” he said, pointing the man away.

The bird made another sound—less lovely, this time. Harry gawked at it, and he only then realized that it was not a hat at all…but _a part of him._ The creature’s feathers were growing out of the man’s scalp, right alongside his white hair. 

“What _is_ he?” Harry asked, unable to stop himself. The old man blinked rapidly, looking back from Snape to Harry like he was confused, or perhaps trying to recall who they were.

“An old fool, now,” Snape answered, and it was difficult to tell if Snape was depressed or disgusted by the sight or him—perhaps both. “His name used to be Albus Dumbledore… but he doesn’t respond to that, anymore.”

Harry gasped. “ _Dumbledore_! But—in the book, that’s—he was the only one who could ever really fight against the Immortal King! The only one he ever feared!”

Snape laughed coldly. “What _happened_ to him?” Harry went on. In _Flight from Death_ , Dumbledore was described as poised and glorious. _This_ man looked like a beggar who was barely keeping himself alive, disoriented and unstable.

He looked… pathetic.

“The Dark Lord happened to him,” Snape said. “Hogwarts used to be Dumbledore’s castle, you know, in the center of the Labyrinth. But then the Dark Lord took it from him; usurped his throne and banished him from the fortress… I imagine he didn’t kill him because he thought this terrible fate was more fitting. The mighty sorcerer Albus Dumbledore, reduced to this… An old fool wandering the Labyrinth, half-insane, muttering nonsense…”

“Maybe that’s not completely true,” Harry said, full of pity for the man who was supposedly once great and powerful. “Maybe he’s still in there, maybe he can help us… Nothing is what it seems here, right? Besides, if it used to be _his_ castle… Who would know better how to get there quickly?”

Snape scoffed. Dumbledore looked at Harry again, his eyes bright and smiling once more. “My dear boy,” he said, and before he or Snape could stop him, he was gripping Harry’s shoulder with his good hand. “My dear, dear boy…”

“Er—yes,” Harry said, glancing quickly at Snape and masking his concern. “Right. Mr. Dumbledore. Sir. Can you help us? Do you know how to get to Hogwarts?”

Dumbledore’s smile faltered. “To find… To find happiness, one must… turn on a light…”

His voice trailed off, his eyes glazing over. His hand dropped to his side. “…Okay,” Harry said slowly. “But I’m trying to find Hogwarts. To save my cousin.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore said, nodding. The long neck of the phoenix bobbed from the top of his head. “Yes. Of course. Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

He stared at Harry with wide, brilliant eyes, like he had just said the most logical and reasonable thing.

“You’re wasting your time,” Snape drawled.

But Harry was persistent. This was Dumbledore! And maybe… maybe he was just asking the wrong questions. “How do I beat the Labyrinth?” he tried again.

Dumbledore pursed his lips and looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. “It is important,” he finally said, speaking evenly, “to fight and fight again, and keep fighting… for only then can evil be kept at bay, though never quite eradicated.”

Harry gaped at him. “Is… is that right?” he said. Dumbledore nodded adamantly.

“Waste of time,” Snape repeated, and Harry couldn’t help but think he may be right. If Dumbledore was once a mighty and wise sorcerer, he no longer was that man.

“Thank you,” Harry said, smiling and stepping away.

“You are most welcome, my dear boy.” Dumbledore graciously inclined his head; the phoenix let out another long, pleasant note.

Snape began to walk past the old man, expecting Harry to follow, but Harry’s eyes lingered on Dumbledore’s blackened hand, on the collection box he held… and pity consumed him once more.

He didn’t have any money, but he did have something. “Here,” he said, pulling a ring from his finger.

It was an old piece of jewelry, one that Harry had owned for years. He’d found it one day when he was very young, out in the woods playing make-believe with make-believe friends in a make-believe world. A thick, golden ring with a black gem on it. He’d feared that his aunt might take it from him, for it was definitely a grown-up piece of jewelry, but then he saw that the stone was cracked. His aunt wouldn’t want something broken. She’d let him keep it.

Harry decided to part with it, now. He held it out towards the old man, who looked at it in surprise. “Here,” Harry said. “For your collection box, in gratitude for your words of wisdom.”

For a moment, it looked as though Dumbledore might cry. His eyes sparkled with moisture, and the phoenix made a sad, lamenting sound. “You don’t need to do that,” Snape muttered, but too late—Harry dropped the ring into the box, where it landed with a soft thud against the wood.

“Thank you,” Dumbledore whispered.

Harry smiled. He had just turned away when Dumbledore grabbed him by the shoulder again, this time with a much tighter grasp. Harry was alarmed when he turned to see a very frightful look on the old man’s face. His eyes were clear and gleaming, his skin had paled—it was like this was the first time he was properly conscious in a long, long time.

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live,” he said, his voice grave and dark. “You’ll remember that, won’t you, dear boy?”

Harry nodded, heart thundering in his chest. Dumbledore was frightening in his sudden panic and lucidity. “Good,” he said, letting go of Harry’s shoulder. “Very good…”

The phoenix emitted one last, shrill cry… and then he burst into flames.

Harry and Snape both screamed and scrambled away from the abrupt wall of fire—a glorious, scarlet plume that was scorching hot—but it vanished in seconds. The flames were gone, and so was Dumbledore and the phoenix which had been a part of him. Not even ashes remained.

Snape and Harry stood there for a long, numb moment, their backs against one of the Labyrinth’s many walls, hearts pounding, completely shocked.

“…What the fuck just happened?” Harry eventually asked, toneless.

“I think… I think you just killed Dumbledore.”

Snape and Harry stared at each other. There was a beat of silence before Snape tilted his head to one side, his dark eye glinting with something that _might_ have been amusement from behind his mask.

“Better you than me,” he said, shrugging.

 


	6. The Book Lover

After the shock of Dumbledore's untimely, fiery demise finally waned somewhat, Harry and Snape continued through the labyrinth.

Harry had about a thousand questions running through his mind—how had Voldemort taken Dumbledore's castle from him? What had caused him to become so decrepit? Why was his hand black, why was that bird apart of his head, why, why, why?—but every time Harry began to voice one of these questions, Snape instantly cut him off.

"How—?"

"If you want my help, do  _not_  ask questions about Dumbledore."

"What—?"

"I said no."

"Why—?"

"Potter!"

"But—"

"I said  _no_!"

Snape rounded on him, dark eyes smoldering from beneath his mask. "I am not having a discussion about Albus Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. There are some questions that I simply will not answer."

"Even if I ask the right ones?" Harry said, sticking his lower lip out and not caring that he sounded pouty.

"In this instance, there are no right questions," Snape drawled. "Dumbledore fell. The Dark Lord won. The end."

He turned and began stalking away. Harry quickly followed.

"Okay, well, if—"

"What part of no questions do you not understand, Potter?"

"But I wasn't going to ask about Dumbledore!" Harry shouted. "I was going to ask—"

A high, ear-splitting cry tore across the air.

Harry and Snape both winced at the scream—it sounded like someone being tortured. Immediately after the shout ended, it was followed by peals of sardonic laughter… and they were close. Harry looked at Snape with worried eyes.

"Right," Snape muttered. "I am officially leaving you, Potter. You are on your own."

He turned and left, walking swiftly in the opposite direction of the commotion.

"What? Hey! You can't leave, it sounds like someone is in pain, like they need help!"

"There is only one thing that causes a scream like that, and I am not getting roped into it," Snape snarled, not pausing in his stride.

"But you said you would help me get back to where I was—"

"I lied." Snape stopped for a moment, his voice becoming much darker. "I lie, Potter, I lie, I run from danger, and the only person I care about in this place is me—just like all of the Dark Lord's monsters. The sooner you figure that out, the better off you'll be."

Then he turned and marched away. Harry's jaw dropped, and just as he was about to shout something else to try and convince him not to leave, another heart-wrenching scream echoed behind him. Harry swore under his breath and let Snape go.

He drew near to the source of the shouting and laughter in moments; it was just on the other side of one of the Labyrinth's many stone walls. Harry could see the shadows of the figures who were laughing, and before he risked peeking, listened hard.

"Mudblood! Mudblood! Mudblood!" they began chorusing between bouts of laughter.

"Do it again, Draco!" a shrill voice demanded gleefully. "You're the best at it!"

Harry held his breath and peered around the edge of the wall. He nearly gasped at what he saw.

There were no less than six figures with skeletal faces. They wore the same, bone-white masks, exactly like the one that Snape had… but these people were shorter, and if they way they were laughing and jeering was anything to go by, Harry would guess that they were barely more than children, teenagers, maybe…

They all had wands.

But even as the devastating realization that there were  _more of them_ , these  _Death Eaters,_  Harry's troubled mind was jumping to the next startling thing. It was the creature that had been screaming.

Based on the sound alone, Harry would have thought it was a girl, a damsel in distress. But the thing that was hanging upside down, suspended in midair and seemingly held by nothing at all, was not even human. It was a big mass curly brown hair. Harry couldn't even see where its mouth was from where he stood.

"Oh, all right," one of boys in a skeletal mask said. He had white blond hair that was slicked back, and Harry could only assume that his name was Draco, as one of his companions had just called him that. He looked and sounded very proud. He lifted his wand and pointed it towards their victim.

" _Crucio!"_

Harry watched with horror as a flash of magic collided with the poor creature, and only just saw a mouth open to reveal a pair of very large buck teeth before a scream came pouring out of it again. Harry couldn't watch; he hid behind the wall with his back pressed to it, his heart thumping.

The screaming ended, and they all laughed.

He had to do something.

But… what could he possibly do against six Death Eaters with wands? If those sticks of wood were capable of doing  _that_ , then he didn't stand a chance. It was abundantly clear that these monsters were much crueler than Snape was. If he stood up to them, there was a very good chance that he would wind up right alongside that creature, suspended upside down by his heel and tortured for fun.

The smart thing to do would be to leave. To take another path, find a way around this commotion and carry on towards the castle. He wasn't here to interfere with every creature he came across in this maze, after all. He was here to get Dudley back.

"Mudblood! Mudblood! Mudblood!" they began chorusing again.

"Pansy, you give it a go!"

"All right— _Crucio_!"

More horrid screams. They were torturing it for  _sport_.

Harry couldn't handle it.

"Stop!"

Without thinking, Harry stepped out from behind the wall. The screaming came to an abrupt end as every figure turned, facing Harry with their wands now pointed at him.

"Who are you?" the blonde, Draco, spat. It was obvious at once that he was the leader of this band of tormenters.

Harry's eyes flashed to his wand before settling on his face. Behind the mask, Harry could see cold, gray eyes narrowed on him. "My name is Harry Potter," he said, surprised at his own, level voice. "And that's my friend your torturing."

Harry wasn't sure what made him say it, but the words had already left his mouth, so he stood by them, straightening his posture and glaring defiantly. There was a moment of silence. The young Death Eaters all glanced at each other, shocked—and then they quickly began laughing.

"Your friend? This mudblood?" Draco sneered, and when Harry nodded, the laughter grew louder. "Well, sorry,  _Potter_ , but finders, keepers. If you want her back, you'll have to take her back."

"Maybe I will," Harry responded. He took a step closer to Draco, despite how stupid he knew such an act was. There was a voice of reason screaming in the back of his mind, one which shouted,  _'They have wands! You have nothing! There's six of them!'_ , but it was easy to ignore over the loud pounding of his own heart.

Draco raised his wand higher, but he seemed unnerved at how fearlessly Harry had begun to advance on him. "You and what army?" he drawled. "You don't even have a wand, do you?"

"I don't need a wand," Harry said, recalling what Snape had said to the Dark Lord when his wand had been taken away. "I can perform wandless magic… I can do things you couldn't even fathom…"

Harry took another step closer, anticipating at any moment that five torturing curses would come flying at him—but Draco's companions seemed frozen, unwilling to act unless Draco told them to.

"Bullshit," Draco spat.

"It's true. In fact, I just killed Albus Dumbledore."

The reaction was instant. Even without being able to see his pace properly, Harry could tell that Draco just paled. His silver eyes went wide in disbelief. "I caused him to burst into flames; I watched as fire consumed him completely. There weren't even ashes left." Harry smirked. Draco was stunned, and Harry was so close, now…

"Y-you're lying," Draco stuttered. "You're full of it, you—"

Harry struck. With an agility he never knew he had, Harry reached forward and snatched the wand like stealing things from Draco's hands was something he had been born to do. It felt warm in his grasp. Harry grinned victoriously, thrusting the strip of wood which he had no idea how to use in the air, and as he held it high above his head it rained sparks of blinding gold.

Evidently, this was an impressive display. The Death Eaters all screamed and ran, disappeared into the labyrinth in flashes of black cloaks and white masks.

Harry lowered his newly acquired wand and laughed. What a rush! He examined the piece of wood, heart screaming with victory, wondering what else he could make this magic stick do…

Then the sound of something heavy thudded behind him, and Harry turned, his thoughts crashing back to the present.

The hairy creature had just fallen, but to Harry's astonishment, it was no longer a hairy creature at all. It was a person. A girl with bushy, brown hair was sprawled out on the ground, her chest heaving as she struggled to push herself up.

Harry shoved the wand in his pocket and ran over to her. "Are you all right?" he asked as he knelt at her side. She looked up at him with wide, brown eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said gently, offering her his hand. "Those people—the Death Eaters—they're gone, now."

She swallowed thickly and took his hand. "My name is Harry," he said, smiling. "Are you feeling okay? Do you think you can stand?"

"Y-yes, I think so." She allowed Harry to help her up, and though she was shaking slightly, she otherwise seemed unharmed. "I… thank you."

She smiled, revealing two very large front teeth. "I'm Hermione," she said. "Thank you for saving me from them, Harry." She then paused, the smile quickly turning into a frown and sounding immediately cagey when she went on. " _Why_  did you save me from them?"

"Because they were torturing you!" Harry answered. "I wasn't just going to stand by and let someone get tortured!"

"How did you know I was just an innocent victim?" she asked, looking more skeptical of Harry still. "I didn't even look like a person just now. How did you know I didn't deserve what they were doing to me? What if  _I_  had been the monster, and you just freed me?"

"I… I didn't think that far ahead," Harry admitted. "I just heard someone in trouble and wanted to stop it."

"Well, that wasn't very smart of you to not think it through, was it?"

Hermione crossed her arms. Harry was astonished at how judgmental she was being—he had just rescued her! "Wow. All right, then. Sorry I saved you," he muttered, backing away. "Have a nice day, then."

He went to leave, but Hermione stopped him before he could take two steps. "Wait! I'm sorry," she shouted, and when he turned to face her again, he saw that all traces of iciness had melted from her features. "It's just that, I—I don't know who to trust here, in this place. I know you just saved me, but… Nothing is what it seems here, you know?"

Harry looked at her pleading face, and found he couldn't really fault her logic. "Yeah," he agreed. "I know what you mean." He cocked his head to one side, suddenly feeling skeptical himself. "Why  _didn't_  you look like a person, before? And they kept calling you mudblood. What's a mudblood?"

"I looked like that because they hexed me! They hit me with some awful spells, turning me into a big, hairy thing! I'm just glad it wore off." She shuddered. "And I don't know what a mudblood is. I've never heard that term before… Me, I guess," she finished, shrugging.

"Huh," Harry said. He pulled out the wand and examined it with awe. "These things can really do a lot, can't they?"

Hermione recoiled at the sight of it. "I haven't seen them do anything good so far," she muttered. "The entire time I've been here, I've only seen wands used for awful magic. Those things are dangerous."

She glared at it like she found the item offensive. Harry couldn't blame her—this wand had just been pointed at her, firing painful curses that made her scream horribly. Harry put it back in his pocket. "Are you not from the Labyrinth, then?"

"No, I'm not. Are you?"

"No," Harry said. "I've only just gotten stuck in this mess a few hours ago. When did you get here?"

Hermione's eyes fell to the ground. "I… I don't know. I don't remember much from before… I think that's what happens when you've been here for too long. I had a life before the Labyrinth, I think… but all I can remember is the book, and wishing magic were real, and when I woke up one day, I was here."

"What book?" Harry asked breathlessly.

"Oh, this fairy tale," Hermione said, blushing slightly. "I kind of read a lot, and, well, I became really intrigued with this story called  _Flight from Death_ —"

"Me too!" Harry interrupted, and Hermione visibly brightened. "I was obsessed with that story, and that's how I wound up here! I said the word, the spell to summon the Immortal King, and it actually worked, and—"

Harry stopped short. When Hermione looked confused, he carried on, his voice heavy with shame. "And… I sort of accidentally sacrificed my baby cousin to the Dark Lord," he finished glumly.

"Harry! Why on earth would you do that?"

"I didn't mean—I didn't think—well, the point is that I'm here to get him back, okay?" Harry said quickly. "I only have a few hours, too, to get to the middle of the labyrinth and find him… Otherwise Dudley is stuck here forever."

"You're trying to get to Hogwarts?" They both turned as one to look at the castle in the distance. It stood atop a tall hill, looking so very ominous… and so very far away. "Most creatures here try and avoid that place, from what I can tell."

"Yeah, I am," Harry answered forlornly. "And I have no idea how to get there."

Hermione made a low, thoughtful sound. "Well, all right, then," she said briskly. "I was just trying to get out of here, but I haven't been making any progress at all on that account, so… I'll help you get to Hogwarts."

"I—really?"

"Absolutely," Hermione answered. "You just saved me from a bunch of dirty Death Eaters. It's the least I can do. Besides, you called me friend." She smiled bashfully. "I know you just said it, but… I've never had a real friend before."

Harry gave her a timid smile of his own. "…Me either."

"Friends, then," she said. Hermione stuck her hand out and they shook, both laughing as they did. "And since we're friends now, and I know you like the story—check this out!" She ran over to a corner where two walls met, and from behind a boulder retrieved what Harry thought was a rather ugly, beaded bag. "I managed to stash this just before they showed up—thank goodness you got here when you did, or they might have found it—"

She reached into the bag and pulled out a book. "It's  _Flight from Death_!" Harry exclaimed, grinning.

"I carry it with me everywhere," Hermione confessed. "Actually, I have about seven books in here. I'm a huge book lover, I have a bit of a problem. I hate the thought of being stranded somewhere without something to read."

"You carry around  _that_  many books all the time?" Harry asked, unsure if he should be impressed or concerned. He lifted the bag, just to check. "But this is so  _heavy_!"

Hermione turned the tome over in her hands, smiling fondly. "I don't mind the weight. Books," she said warmly, "are friends."

It was only then that Harry realized the copy of _Flight from Death_  which she held looked very different from his own back home. "That looks like a really old copy," he commented.

"It is. It's one of the first editions which was printed. I'm a bit of an enthusiast for that sort of thing."

She handed him the old copy so he could examine it for himself. On the cover was an intricate engraving of a large, coiling serpent.

"And if you like that," Hermione went on, digging around in her bag for something else, "you'll  _love_  this."

It was another book, a smaller one, and it looked even older than the first. There was no imagery on the cover, only the title,  _'The Life and Lies of Tom Marvolo Riddle.'_

"What is this?" Harry asked, trading her  _Flight from Death_  for the new book.

"It's a prequel to  _Flight from Death_."

"What? No way! I didn't know there was a prequel!"

"Almost no one does," Hermione said smugly. "I found out about while I was researching the original story—I love researching things—and I discovered that the author used to write under a different pen name with a completely different publishing company!"

"Really?" Harry turned the book over; there was no synopsis on the back.

"Yeah. I guess she never got very popular with this one. I can't say I'm surprised, the writing isn't nearly as good. It was published ten years before  _Flight from Death_. But reading it, it's obvious that this is a sort of prequel. It's the story of an orphan boy… and there's enough references that it's clear to anyone who knows to look for them that this boy grew up to be the Dark Lord."

Harry gaped at her. "An orphan boy? You mean the Dark Lord used to be a normal person…? Named Tom?"

"Yes," she said. "And that was always what really bothered me about  _Flight from Death_. You know how in the book he's always referred to as the Immortal King or the Dark Lord? And it mentions that he has another name, one that was too terrible to speak, that was so awful… Well, I wanted to know what it was. So I started researching, and it eventually led me to this."

She nodded towards the prequel. "And that name is Tom Riddle?" Harry asked. "That doesn't sound so awful."

"No, and I thought as much, too," Hermione agreed. "But I don't think that's what it is. In  _this_  book, the poor orphan boy named Tom has a really awful life. His father left before he was born, and his mother died in childbirth, and so throughout the story he carries with him this terrible fear of death. But he's different—special. He can talk to snakes. He can use magic. And he vows one day to make a new name, one that everyone will someday dare to speak."

" _Another_  name, then?" Harry shook his head, trying to keep up with it all. "Besides Tom, or the Dark Lord, or the Immortal King?"

"Or He Who Must Not Be Named, or you-know-how, as some characters called him, yes," Hermione went on. "And it took me a long time, but I think I've figured it out! Look here. See the two different author names? Just look!"

Harry looked. The author of  _The Life and Lies of Tom Marvolo Riddle_  was I. M. Morte. The author of  _Flight from Death,_  as Harry knew, was Tim More. Unsure what to make of this, he looked up to Hermione. Her face was shining with expectation, like she had just shared with him a great secret. "Er…"

"It's an anagram!" she exclaimed as though it was obvious. "I. M. Morte, Tim More—they're the same letters, just rearranged!"

"Er… and?"

"Well, Tom's full name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. And there's a line in here—hold on—"

She grabbed the prequel back, and as she flipped through it, Harry saw that many pages had the corners bent so she could easily find them again. "Here! It says, 'He would tear his old name apart, and from the wreckage create a new name, one the world had never heard before, far more powerful… He would be a Lord.' That sounds like he would make an anagram, don't you think? Just like the author! So I started making anagrams from Tom Marvolo Riddle, and it was driving me mad, because I couldn't really come up with anything good… but then I looked at the old pen name, and thought, well, I. M., that sounds an awful lot like 'I am', doesn't it? Which makes their last name choice a little more logical, because then it literally says, 'I am dead'. Morte is latin for dead."

"Why on earth would anyone want their name to mean  _that_?" Harry gawked.

"I don't know. Maybe they thought it was poetic. Writers are weird," Hermione said, shrugging. "But anyway, once I realized that, I started adding the words 'I am' to my anagrams, as well as the word 'Lord', since that was mentioned, too;  _then_  I remembered that it was also a new name, something made-up… and I figured it out! It's a made-up word, a combination of Latin and French, oddly enough, and when translated, it means…" she paused, eyes brightening, " _Flight from Death!_ "

"…Well?" Harry prompted, as she fell silent. His curiosity was  _burning_. "What is it?"

"I can't say."

Harry stared. "What!? Why not? It's not like you're a character from the book! Are you afraid to say it?"

"I am  _now_ ," she said. "Because when I finally got it, I  _did_  say it out loud, and—and I think that's how they found me. Those Death Eaters."

"What? How d'you figure that?"

"Because I said it, and then suddenly they were here! Just appeared, making these loud cracking noises when they did, and I barley had time to run and hide my bag before they caught me."

"Oh." Harry turned and looked all around him; they were very much alone, now. "You think more would come if you said it again, then?"

"Maybe. I'd rather not risk it."

Harry visibly deflated. "Well, here," Hermione said, noting his obvious disappointment. "I wrote it down. You can read it. I only think it makes them show up when you say it. It was a name he wanted everyone to fear  _speaking_ , after all."

She pulled out a scrap piece of paper, one that was filled with other possible anagrams that Hermione had come up with only to cross out. At the bottom was a phrase which was circled, bold and underlined.

_**I am Lord Voldemort.** _

"Vol—?"

" _Don't!"_

"Sorry."

Hermione grabbed the paper and smiled ruefully. "You really  _don't_  think before acting, do you?"

"Not typically, no."

"Guess it's a good thing you have me with you now, then."

Harry grinned. "Yeah, I guess it is."

Hermione put her books and paper back in her bag and slung it over her shoulder. "Well, we should get going then, right? How long do you have to get to the center?"

Harry groaned. "I don't know exactly. A couple hours at best."

"Oh, no! Let's go, then! I would hate for your baby cousin to—oh, damn!" Harry turned to look at what she was staring at, looking infuriated, and became instantly distressed as well. Their surroundings had changed again while they were talking without either of them noticing. "I hate this place, I  _hate_  when this happens! When did those two doors get there?"

"I don't know," Harry said. In the corner where there had once been only bricks, near where Hermione had hidden her bag, were now two tall, iron doors with metal faces on them. When they looked behind them, it was to see that—sure enough—another wall had manifested, closing them in. "Guess we're going this way," he concluded dully.

Hermione sighed, and the two approached the doors together.

They were identical in size and shape, but the metal faces could not have been more different. One was that of a man, a normal, middle-aged human, and the other was that of a vicious looking beast—a wolf. The man's eyes were open, the wolf's eyes were closed.

"Hello," the metal man said, and though Harry knew he should not have been surprised at another inanimate object coming to life, he still jumped.

"Hello," Hermione responded, much less affected than Harry. He wondered just how long she had been here so look so at ease. "We were just trying to get to the castle in the middle of the maze. Will either of these doors lead us there?"

"Perhaps. I'm afraid I can't tell you where either of these doors will take you, though. I'm not a wanderer, like you. I'm just a monster."

He looked very sad. "Why does everyone here keep saying that about themselves?" Harry asked, frowning. "You can't  _all_  be monsters."

"Oh, but I am. I accepted that a long time ago… Ah, but you want to pass through this door, yes? That will require a payment."

"Maybe," Hermione said cautiously. "Or maybe we want to go through  _that_  one."

She nodded towards the door with the wolf on it. Its eyes were closed, completely static, but its teeth were barred and gleaming. Harry thought that relief sculpture looked  _far_  more monstrous than the man they were talking to.

"Well, you can't," the man said simply. "That door only wakes up when the moon is full, and trust me… you don't want to make the payment  _that_  door requires."

Harry looked up at the twilight sky. He hadn't really noticed before, but it was getting darker. Still, he couldn't find the moon, and they didn't have time to waste for night to fully fall, anyway. "What payment do you require?" he asked.

"Your fears."

Hermione and Harry looked at each other.

"You must tell me your greatest fear, and then you may pass," the door elaborated. "Which means, of course, that you must know what your greatest fear is. If you're lying or wrong, I won't open."

"That's easy for me," Hermione said at once. "My worst fear is failure."

The man nodded his metallic head. "And yours?" he said, looking to Harry.

Harry furrowed his brow and thought about this.

He was certainly afraid of his uncle, and the terrible things he did to him. He was afraid of being locked in the cupboard, having spent too many hours trapped in there when his aunt and uncle were displeased with him. He was afraid of losing Dudley, of being responsible for his cousin being stuck here, forever, doomed to become a 'monster'… A Death Eater…

But then the sudden realization struck him that if the Dark Lord did not turn Dudley into a monster, Vernon and Petunia probably would.

Monsters tended to create more monsters.

Maybe that was what Harry was most afraid of… being unable to stop that, being unable to save Dudley, no matter what the circumstances were…

Then he thought of Hermione just a few moments ago, and how deeply he had feared for her—and that was when she had resembled something of a monster already…

"I think," he said slowly, "that my worst fear… is being unable to save someone. Anyone who needs saving."

The man's face was still for a long moment. Harry waited for a response, and was afraid that he was wrong, that maybe he had turned to lifeless metal and that they would be trapped—

But then the door swung open.

"Excellent!" Hermione said. "Come on, before the door changes its mind—that  _can_  happen, here—"

Harry hurried through the door after her. It closed behind them, and they both stared in awe at their new surroundings.

They had seemingly just walked right into the woods.

There were no walls, not labyrinth-like twists or turns—just many trees, foliage, and a small path which they were now on. Once they had taken a few steps forward, mesmerized at the sight, they saw that the door behind them had vanished. They were surrounded by nothing but woods.

They both figured it out at the same time.  _"The Forbidden Forest!"_  they exclaimed, sharing wonder-filled smiles.

The Forbidden Forest was the most exciting setting in  _Flight from Death_  by far. It was where the Hero went on some of his most exciting adventures, filled with centaurs and unicorns and—

And many other, much more dangerous things. Hermione must have come to this conclusion as well, because her face became quickly concerned and she grabbed Harry's hand. "We best be careful," she said. Harry nodded, and they began to walk at a cautious pace.

It was a beautiful forest, more fantastical looking than anything Harry might have envisioned on his own. There were colorful lights everywhere, floating around them in a whimsical, magical way. It wasn't until Harry saw one up close, a ball of periwinkle blue, that he saw what they were.

"Hermione, look!" he shouted excitedly. He let go of her hand to reach for one. "They're fairies!"

"Harry, I wouldn't—"

But Harry had already taken off after one, enchanted as the little winged person fluttered away. The light it was emitting turned a bubble-gum pink. "Wait, I won't hurt you!" he said to it. It smiled playfully at him and flew faster. "Come back! Say, Hermione, maybe they—"

He turned and looked over his shoulder. Hermione was gone.

"Hermione?"

Harry quickly forgot the fairy, looking all around him in a frenzy. Hermione was just there seconds ago! Right behind him! Where could she have gone that quickly?

"Hermione?" he called again. There was no response. "Hermione? Hermione!" he called. She wouldn't have just left him, Harry thought firmly to himself. She must have been taken, something must have grabbed her…

Panicking, Harry left the path, pushing foliage aside and delving boldly into the darkness of the woods.

* * *

Snape was  _done_.

He marched through the Labyrinth alone, as he liked to be, in beautiful, utter silence. He preferred the quiet. He preferred solitude.

Snape rarely got what he wanted.

He had only the slightest burning on his forearm as a warning before his master appeared.

"Severus."

The Dark Lord materialized out of the shadows, as terrifying and imposing as he always was. Snape didn't hesitate, but immediately fell to his knees and bowed his head.

"M-my Lord."

"What  _are_  you doing?"

Snape glanced up, standing only when his King gestured impatiently for him to do so. "I… I was—"

"Fleeing from your task? I believe I told you to take Harry back to the beginning of the Labyrinth."

"I… Of course, my Lord. At once, my Lord." Snape inclined his head and backed away.

"Stop. I have a much  _better_  plan, now."

Snape's skin crawled—he knew that velvety tone of voice far too well, that cunning tenor that proceeded the most underhanded of ploys. "Rather than lead him back to the beginning, you will go to Harry and endear yourself to his forgiving nature. You will say that you've changed your ways and are on his side, now, completely… and you give him this."

The Dark Lord pulled out a black flask and tossed it to him. Severus caught it and unscrewed the lid on pure instinct—it was in his nature to examine every potion and elixir he came into contact with.

Tiny tendrils of smoke came coiling upwards from within the flask. It smelled of lilies and vanilla, and even with the slightest inhale of its sweet aroma, Snape felt light-headed. For one beautiful, fragmented second, Severus forgot everything. His mind went blissfully numb.

The euphoric moment instantly turned to horror. "You want me to give him this," he said, knowing what it was, what it could do.

"Yes… and you will do so, and you will do so  _quickly_."

Snape swallowed thickly, but the Dark Lord's cold tone left no room for argument. "Of course, my lord," he murmured.

Feeling sick with himself, he turned to do his King's bidding.

"Oh, and Severus?"

Snape froze, fear licking up his spine as he turned to face his master again. The Dark Lord was smiling. The soft expression on his face made Snape's heart freeze in his chest.

"If he ever thinks of you as anything but a  _monster_ , if Harry ever sees beyond the skeletal mask… I shall turn you into a  _true_  Prince." He paused, his voice lowering to a derisive purr. "A  _pureblood_  Prince."

His smile widened, becoming twisted and demonic, and his eyes flashed  _red_. Before Snape could think to say anything, the Immortal King vanished… but the image of two scarlet, burning eyes remained imprinted in his mind, narrowed and crimson, the color of blood.


End file.
